


Finally Breaking

by queasy_mouse



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arguing, Drinking Games, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 09:23:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queasy_mouse/pseuds/queasy_mouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The debate!AU.  In which Arthur makes a fresh start, a new friend, and a complete mess of understanding what's actually going on.  Also, there are arguments.  Lots and lots of arguments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finally Breaking

**Author's Note:**

> The most thankful of all thanks to Destiny_Chicken who did an amazing job of betaing this for me, despite the fact that I only sent it to her a week ago.
> 
> Also, to uni_merlin_mod for arranging this fantastic fest so superbly. :)
> 
> Finally, to the OP, whose fabulous prompt gave me an excuse to combine two of my favourite things in the world, debating and fic! I hope this was something like what you were looking for. 
> 
> A short explanation of British Parliamentary Style debating, the format used in this story, is included in the notes at the end of this story. If you're unfamiliar with formal debating, it might be worth a quick read just because it'll make the story make a lot more sense. :)

The first time Arthur saw the name Merlin Emrys, it was two weeks before he even started at the University of Camelot. He was idly clicking through the Camelot Freshers' Facebook page before bed, when he noticed a post which made him snort.

 

 

_**** _

 

Arthur raised an eyebrow. How on earth did one manage to buy a wristband for the _wrong university?_ Surely that took absentmindedness to a whole new level.

Still, Arthur considered, he hadn't got a wristband yet. He'd only got his acceptance to Camelot a week before, having decided to go through Clearing after his gap year plans had fallen through. He took another drink from the tumbler of whiskey beside him at that thought – the scheming, useless bitch Sophia had nearly messed things up completely for him.

Maybe a new start in Freshers' week was what he needed. And since saving money could never be a bad thing, a wristband, which would let him into all the Freshers' club nights at the University of Camelot Students' Union at discounted prices during the first few weeks of term, particularly one he could get cheaper than the norm thanks to someone else's idiocy, might not be a bad idea.

 

  
 

 

The response was almost immediate.

 

 

 

Arthur wondered what kind of madman would wear a scarf in the lingering heat of a warm September.

 

*-*-*

 

Apparently, the kind of idiot who wore a scarf in September was also the sort of person to be over twenty minutes late to a meeting which had been arranged almost a week previously. Irritated, Arthur checked his watch for what had to be at least the fifteenth time, but no, the face still stubbornly read 15:22.

He was sitting in the coffee shop (since he was already in town, why not indulge?), reading the newspaper on his iPhone and sipping a surprisingly tasty gingerbread flavoured confection which he'd ordered in the name of being as decadent as possible, when a tall, lanky frame and a red scarf dropped in to the seat opposite him.

The scarf appeared to be attached to a rather red-faced and panting boy with the sharpest cheekbones Arthur had ever seen in his life. He looked like he belonged in one of Morgana's magazines (not that Arthur would admit to reading the damn things, but when they were open on a coffee table, one really had no way to escape seeing them whilst waiting for a very picky sister to get dressed).

“Are you Arthur?” said Cheekbones. “So sorry I'm late, the bus just decided not to come – I hate living in the suburbs, I had to walk all the way! Forty-five minutes.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “I'm presuming from that little speech that you're Merlin, then.”

Cheekbones – no, _Merlin_ – reddened slightly. “Oops. Didn't I mention that? Yes, I'm Merlin. You wanted the Freshers' wristband?”

“Yeah, I've got the twenty quid here, so...”

Merlin nodded, sticking his hand into the pocket of his coat. “Hang on a sec, it's just in my pocket... oh shit.”

His facial expression was so crestfallen that Arthur found himself smiling. “What?”

Merlin thunked his head on the table in frustration. “...I may sort of have left it at home?”

At this point, Arthur had to laugh. It was just too ridiculous – how was this person for real?

Merlin looked shamefaced. “Look, I'm so sorry mate. I'm a little bit forgetful, as you might have noticed. Let me buy you another coffee to make up for dragging you out here, only to turn up empty handed?”

Arthur opened his mouth to say that he'd been planning on doing some shopping anyway so he didn't really need a coffee, but something about those cheekbones and bright blue eyes changed his mind. “Mine's a gingerbread latte,” fell out of his mouth without any input from his brain whatsoever.

 

*-*-*

 

Their conversation started out politely enough: 

“So, what are you going to be studying at Camelot, Arthur?” asked Merlin, when he came back to the table with two huge coffee mugs and a plate piled high with slices of cake. “By the way, I don't know what kind of cake you like, so I just bought one of everything for us to share.”

Arthur stared at the pile in astonishment. “Law and Politics. I'd have been fine with just the coffee, really.”

“Nonsense,” said Merlin. “Cake is good for the soul. That sounds like a fairly intense course.” 

“I like arguing,” Arthur shrugged. “It runs in the family really – my sister's President of the debating society at Camelot this year, too. How about you, what are you studying?”

“I'm going to be doing Psychology at UAC. I've always enjoyed trying to figure people out. And my uncle's a therapist, so I guess it runs in the family for both of us.”

 

*-*-*

 

By about an hour in to their conversation, the tone had become rather less polite:

“I mean,” said Arthur, gesticulating with his fork, “I don't get it! How the does someone, particularly someone who's so clearly intelligent, buy a wristband for the _wrong university?_ I mean, really? I think you were just trying to sneak in because of all the universities in this city, Camelot Uni is clearly the best.”

“Oh, shut up, Arthur.” Merlin sent the napkin he was holding flying across the cafe in consternation. “I bought it when I was still living in Ealdor, which is on the other side of Albion! I'd never been to the city and I got a bit confused, that's all. I mean, University of Camelot, University of _Albion in_ Camelot - they sound so similar, it's a mistake anyone could have made! I presumed they'd just dropped the Albion bit because they presumed students actually knew what country they lived in! How was I meant to know that there are two completely separate institutions with ridiculously similar names within three miles of each other? It's a mistake anyone could have made.

“And obviously, the University of Albion in Camelot is the best. We have far better practical courses, for people who actually live in the real world.”

 

*-*-*

 

Merlin and Arthur soon found that they disagreed not only on this, but on absolutely everything. Eventually, the conversation descended into complete argument: 

“How the hell are you a student who doesn't hate the tuition fees?” Arthur said, aghast. “It's against fundamental principles of fairness, tripling them is going to make university be so unaffordable to students from less economically privileged backgrounds!”

The table around them was littered with coffee cups, and it was growing dark outside. Arthur thought that the blonde waitress was giving them dirty looks, but he was distracted by Merlin making another totally ridiculous point.

“Pfft,” the lanky boy was saying, gesticulating wildly with one hand and narrowly avoiding hitting a man trying to get past holding a mug of tea. “I _am_ one of those 'less economically privileged' people, and even I understand that we're in a massive deficit and need to recoup losses somehow. Besides – the payment plan is ridiculously favourable – we don't even have to start paying 'til we're earning over twenty-one thousand pounds.”

Arthur marvelled that anyone so misguided was still functioning in modern society. “It's the principle of the thing! Besides, all economic arguments are shot by the fact that like you said, you don't even need to pay the damn thing back, so it's technically no change from a governmental point of view, but the psychological barrier for poorer students is huge – something you should know about, considering your prospective degree – this is just Tory elitism at it's worst since -”

Merlin interrupted with a snort. “Principles! To paraphrase Pratchett: show me an atom of principle anywhere in the universe, and I'll give you that argument. There are no principles. Everything is relative!”

“Ahem.”

Blonde waitress was looking frostily at them. “It's seven pm. We're closing.”

Arthur gave her his most charming smile and left a five pound note on the table as they left. He felt she deserved it after the number of serviettes which had been left shredded on the table in frustration, or scribbled on to make points, or thrown angrily to the floor and forgotten about.

Once they were standing outside the door, the spell of instant familiarity which seemed to have enfolded them in the coffee shop evaporated, and they looked at each other awkwardly. The evening light almost made Merlin's eyes looked gold. Arthur shivered, despite the warm weather, and looked away hurriedly.

“So...” said Merlin. “I should probably say that I'm not exactly some nihilistic bastard who doesn't believe in morality. I just tend to get a little caught up in arguments, you know?” His smile was incredibly endearing.

“Yeah,” said Arthur ruefully. “And my dad's actually a Tory peer, so half of that anti-government stuff...” He trailed off with a shrug.

Merlin laughed aloud. “We're a right pair, aren't we?”

There was a slightly awkward silence.

“I'd better go for my bus,” said Merlin. “Wouldn't want to miss the damn thing twice in one day!”

“Yeah,” said Arthur. “This was fun, though. We should do it again.”

Merlin's grin seemed to Arthur to light up the world. “Yeah. That'd be good.”

The silence now was far less awkward. Unsure what the preferred farewell was for someone you'd never met before in your life but had just spent four hours having fantastic conversation with in an almost date-like atmosphere but who you technically didn't know at all, Arthur gave one last awkward half-wave-shrug-thing and turned away, walking back down the high street the way he had come.

 

_**** _

 

*-*-*

 

Three weeks in, and Arthur wasn't sure what to think of university so far. Despite living only ten minutes from Camelot's city centre, he'd opted to move into Halls, partially because his father was still giving him glowering looks because of the Sophia Incident which had led to him losing his place at Cambridge, but mostly because he fully intended to get the whole 'university experience' and didn't think that he'd want to be going home drunk alone at 3am to Pendragon Manor.

He'd ended up, since anyone who came through clearing got last pickings, in Kilgharrah Hall, which was about twenty minutes walk from the main Camelot University buildings. His flatmates seemed all right. There were five of them sharing one kitchen – an Irish lad called Gwaine who had impressed everyone on the first night out by drinking his weight in whiskey, Leon, tall and ginger, Mithian, who had brown hair and a boyfriend back home, to whom she drove home every weekend, and Elena, who had reminded him forcibly of Merlin the first time they met, when she fell over her own feet and crashed into a wall. Their friendship had only increased from there.

Technically, there were six people in their flat, but Arthur hardly thought that Mordred counted, since he'd spent all week in his room and had yet to be seen speaking to anyone, or even cooking. They presumed he ate _something_ , since he had a cupboard full of pans and little packets of what Gwaine swore was seaweed, but no one had ever seen him enter or leave the kitchen.

In fact, the only reason that Arthur knew what he looked like was that on the first day, he'd seen a dark-haired figure ducking into the room down the hall as he put down his suitcase and wrestled with his new lock.

It wasn't that the others hadn't tried talking to Mordred. They'd knocked repeatedly on his door to ask him if he wanted to come out to one of the many Freshers' Week parties being held at the students' union, but the only response had been a raising of the volume of the weird new-age music which emanated irritatingly from under his door at all hours of the day or night.

Arthur had thought that his musical tastes were fairly liberal, but ten minutes of [violins being tortured](http://www.youtube.com/user/okanokumo?v=rE65LR0Ef48) played on repeat was starting to do his head in.

He turned up the volume on Leon's iPod, which was currently playing something awful by Lady Gaga, and took another gulp of his drink, watching Percy from upstairs pick up another card from the table.

“Six,” he said carefully. None of them quite understood the rules for this game yet – there was a very high possibility that Gwaine was making them up as he went along. Either that, or everyone was so drunk that they'd forgotten them. Arthur wasn't sure, the world was looking a bit hazy right now.

“Yeah!” called the Irishman, who was clearly three sheets to the wind already. “Six.... six rhymes with dicks! Everyone with a dick, drink up!”

Tonight was the foam party at the Union, and as all students did, they were pre-drinking like mad to avoid the higher prices at the bar.

Mithian looked at her phone, which was buzzing. “Taxi's here, everyone. Leon, Percy, grab Gwaine and let's pray he's sober enough to get in this time.”

Arthur wasn't entirely certain what happened in the following half hour. He presumed that they'd gotten into a taxi to the Union, shown ID to get past the bouncers, and somehow made it into the foam party.

But the next time he felt conscious of his surroundings, he was dancing in a group of people he didn't know. Leon seemed to have buggered off somewhere, and the girls had gone straight to the bathroom as girls always do in clubs, but he and Gwaine had found a collection of people who seemed about as drunk as them, and were vaguely moving hips to the music.

One girl in particular was grinding back into Arthur's crotch – he felt his hands, almost on auto-pilot, drop to her hips and he slowly moved them up and down her sides, stroking. She had short, dark hair, though it was difficult to tell, really, under the flashing strobe lights. Just then the foam cannon rained down upon them again, and the crowd surged forward to meet the descending rain of bubbles. Arthur's hands moved from the girl's waist to wipe his eyes clear. As he did so, she turned in his arms, and before he knew what was happening, they were kissing sloppily, her tongue wrestling with his. Arthur thought vaguely that her chest felt oddly flat, for a girl. Maybe she was an A-cup. He closed his eyes, and tried to stop analysing and enjoy it.

After a while, Arthur realised he felt sick and made a run for the toilets.

 

*-*-*

 

At somewhere about two pm, having missed all his morning lectures, Arthur staggered into the kitchen to find food. Gwaine and Leon were sitting at the table, eating toast and a pot of noodles respectively. Elena was at the hob, making something that looked vaguely like pasta.

Arthur shuffled over to the kettle and switched it on, desperate for a cup of tea. As he was bending over and scrabbling around in his cupboard to find a mug, Gwaine said from behind him: “You remember you were getting off with a bloke last night, Arthur?”

“Gwaine!” Elena said, scandalised. “You can't just ask people if they remember getting off with blokes! You need to be subtle about that stuff.”

Arthur straightened, holding his mug but not turning round. That explained the lack of breasts, then.

But then again, university was a whole new world. Maybe it was time to be open and see where this went.

He turned around. “Yeah,” he said. “I'm bi. That's not going to be an issue, is it?”

Gwaine shrugged. “Nah.”

Leon waved his hand airily. “Duh.”

Elena said, “Obviously not, idiot. Thanks for telling us, though.”

 _Well,_ Arthur thought. _That was surprisingly easy._ He'd always thought that coming out was supposed to involve more drama.

Then he imagined his father's face if he ever even suggested not being entirely heterosexual, and decided that that was one lot of drama which he'd prefer to avoid.

 

*-*-*

 

Fortunately for Arthur, his hangover had mostly cleared up by the time he made it to the first Debating Society meeting that evening. He'd done Schools' debating for years and considered himself fairly good at it, so was keen to see the competition at university level. In addition to that, he was doing a Law degree, so it could hardly hurt to have some extra practice speaking and putting together an argument.

Besides, it was a family affair.

“Arty!” came a cry as soon as he entered the room where debating was held.

“Don't call me that, witch,” he said dryly, perfectly aware that he had no chance whatsoever of getting his sister to stop using awful nicknames. It hadn't worked for the last eighteen years, after all.

Morgana grinned as though she knew what he was thinking. Sometimes, he worried that his big sister had superpowers or something.

“Hurry up, you're late,” was all she said, before herding him into a seat and taking a place on the podium.

“Hey everyone, welcome to the first Debating Soc meeting. I'm your president for this year, Morgana Pendragon. That means that I basically tell everyone what to do, and let the rest of my fabulous committee do all the hard work of running the society. Stand up, committee!”

Arthur recognised most of the faces, Morgana having often had friends over to stay at the Manor during holidays. He nodded to Morgause, his sister's best friend and society treasurer, who returned his look with an icy jerk of the head. He'd always had the feeling that she didn't like him for some reason.

“We're going to divide you into three groups for the first few weeks,” Morgana was saying. “Beginner is for people who've never debated before, you'll be with me, Intermediate if you sort of know what you're doing but aren't too confident, head downstairs with Edwin. Advanced is for confident speakers, you'll be staying in here with Morgause chairing.

One more thing: if you haven't done university debating before, we strongly encourage you to enter the Albion Novice competition, which will be held in the beautiful city of Mercia in a couple of weeks time. It's a great introduction to university debating, and only Novices can enter so it's a great way to get started without it being too terrifying. Also, you get to go spend a weekend in a different town with awesome debating people, which of course is reason enough. Sign up with Gilli, in the corner, if you're interested.”

Gilli waved a little black notebook at the crowd. Arthur made a mental note to go and speak to him later – he had never turned down a chance for competition in his life, and wasn't intending to start now.

Morgana was just finishing her speech. “Right, that's it. Everyone, split up and happy arguing!”

Arthur stayed in his seat as the room cleared. Morgana waved at him as she left, followed by a crowd of rather terrified looking Freshers. “Do me proud, baby brother!” she called over her shoulder. Arthur manfully resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at her.

Morgause cleared her throat, looking round at the ten people left in the room. “We need eight debaters, so two of you will have to judge. Get into pairs, quickly, and we'll pull it out of a hat.”

Arthur looked around the room. Most people seemed to have come in groups with friends, so were already sorted into pairs. He locked eyes with a guy sitting down the row from him, who also seemed to be on his own. “Partners?” he said.

“Sure,” said the guy, holding out a hand for Arthur to shake. “I'm Lance, nice to meet you.”

Morgause appeared, thrusting a piece of paper at Arthur. “This is the position you'll be speaking,” she said abruptly.

Arthur unfolded it. “Second Opp,” he said. “Bugger, I hate summating. You don't want to speak second, do you?”

Lance shrugged. “Sure. I've done some Schools' debates before, so theoretically I should know what I'm doing.”

Arthur grinned. “Same. Fingers crossed it works for us.”

Morgause cleared her throat. “Okay, everyone know what you're doing? You're all in Advanced, so I'm not going to explain the rules. Our motion today is 'This House Would Legalise Drugs'. It's an old chestnut that you've probably all done before, but Madam President decided we should break you in gently. You have fifteen minutes prep time, go.”

They went. As Lance and Arthur huddled in a corner of the corridor, frantically scribbling random words like 'slippery slope' and 'conscience' and 'society', Arthur felt suddenly really happy, perhaps the first time he'd been truly happy since Sophia left him. This, this mad rush of ideas and off-the-cuff speechifying, was where he belonged.

 

*-*-*

 

 

 

_*-*-*_

 

When the team from Camelot University finally struggled into Mercia Station at about nine o'clock on Friday night, Arthur was not in the best of moods. Four hours cooped up on a minibus with your older sister was not good for anyone's nerves, particularly when she decided she was bored and started sharing embarrassing stories midway through the trip. Also, Morgause drove like a maniac for whom traffic lights and speed bumps simply didn't exist, and Arthur was already dreading the journey home before they'd even arrived.

At least the minibus was fairly empty, since it turned out that only a few of the novices were interested in spending one of their first weekends at university trekking half-way across the country to have an argument. Fortunately for Arthur, Lance, who had become his regular partner at the weekly debates, was one of these. There was also an Indian girl called Freya and a flamboyantly camp gay guy called Cedric. Morgause, Morgana and Edwin had come along to act as judges.

The girl who met them at the train station where they'd parked guided them directly into a pub next door, where a group of people had already commandeered most of the far corner. After buying drinks, the group from Camelot joined them.

The debating society from the University of Albion in Camelot had come down by train rather than minibus, and so had gotten to Mercia hours earlier. Seeing Merlin, Arthur flopped down into the free space next to him and stole one of his chips. They'd met up for coffee quite a few times since the original wristband incident, and so he felt justified in helping himself to Merlin's food, since they were now officially friends.

Apparently, Merlin didn't feel the same.

“Oi, shove off, you great prat!” he shrieked, threatening Arthur with his fork.

“I'm just taking my tribute for when we kick your arses tomorrow,” said Arthur smugly. He did love winding Merlin up, that particular shade of red which he went was incredible.

Merlin snorted. “Yeah, right. You're not the king, I don't owe you anything!”

Arthur grinned. “Tell you what, let's bet on it. Winner buys the loser as many drinks and or chips as they like, forever?”

Merlin narrowed his eyes. “You're on, prat. Hope your pockets are feeling deep, I'm looking forward to collecting on that.”

Arthur turned to Lance, who had dropped down next to him and was talking to the pretty girl sitting opposite.

“Lance, when we win tomorrow, Merlin shall be buying us chips!”

The girl laughed. “You must be the famous Arthur. Merlin talks about you a lot. He's already warned me that we have to beat you tomorrow or else the world will end.” She held out a hand for him to shake. “I'm Gwen, his debate partner.”

Arthur grinned at her. “Hey Gwen, I'm sorry to say that we shall be crushing you into the dirt tomorrow. Right, Lance?”

“Um, yep,” said Lance. Arthur noticed that he was staring rather besottedly at Gwen. _Ah,_ he thought. _I hope that doesn't interfere with his arguing tomorrow! It's never good to fancy someone on the other team._

Shrugging, he took a sip of his half-finished pint and turned back to Merlin. “So, Merlin, have you realised that your entire worldview is wrong, yet?”

“A view can't be _wrong_ , Arthur, it's an opinion. By definition, a view is personal to a single human being, so can't be judged by others.”

“Hitler's worldview was that killing millions of Jews was a good thing, can't we judge that?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Invoking [Godwin's law](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Godwin's_law) is such a tired old trope, Arthur.”

“Fine, any serial killer then. Their worldview is that their killing is justified, how can you defend that?”

Merlin shut his eyes for a second, clearly trying to think of an argument. “Well, they're reducing overpopulation?”

The whole table dissolved into laughter.

 

*-*-*

 

Lance and Arthur breezed through the first round. “This House would legalise Euthanasia” was, after all, a fairly standard debate, and one they'd both argued before. They breezed through in first Prop position, raising all the obvious points about a person's life being their own, and defining the motion in such a way that doctors would have the right to decline end someone's life if it was against their moral principles. This effectively derailed all the opposition's arguments before they started, so it was a fairly secure win, especially when no one else offered any points of information throughout. Arthur half-wondered aloud whether anyone in that room had actually _ever_ done any debating before, but Lance rapidly shushed him and reminded him that no, actually, they mostly hadn't. That was why it was called a _novice_ competition.

Arthur felt a little bit shamefaced. This did not stop the other contestants, who had overheard his rather loud comment, giving them dirty looks as they waited for the results.

 

*-*-*

 

The second round was better, mainly because they were facing everyone else who'd already won, so the standard was slightly higher.

Also, Merlin and Gwen had also won their room.

“Ready for battle?” Arthur asked, shoving Merlin slightly as they walked out of the large lecture theatre where they were waiting in between rounds.

“Hell yeah, Pendragon. You're going down.” Arthur found himself suddenly shocked by the jolt of attraction he felt for the determined smirk in those bright blue eyes.

 _No,_ he thought. He didn't even know if Merlin was gay or not. And even if he was, they were just friends. _Not going to happen._  

He soon forgot that little blip, anyway, because they were Second Opp for the next debate, and desperately trying to think of an extension.

“Okay, it's all about giving prisoners the vote,” said Lance. “What won't First Opp think of? We need something for your extension.”

Arthur frowned. “The idea of a social contract is obviously going to come up – that prisoners have broken the rules of society, and therefore shouldn't be part of it, and shouldn't have the right to vote. Merlin will probably focus on the fact that it'd be unfair to everyone else – he's in to all that equality stuff.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “What, and you're a dictatorial monarchist, stuck in the middle ages?”

“Queen and country all the way, my good sir.”

“All right, but I'm not sure that'll stand up as an argument.” Lance laughed.

Arthur could almost feel a lightbulb flash on above his head. “Actually... why not? We could make the point that there are no little laws, that breaking a law is breaking a the law, and should be punished that if you disagree with a law you should fight against it in ways other than breaking it. I think I can word that well enough to be different from them to win it for us. Basically go all hard-line right wing on them. Merlin won't do that, not in a million years.”

 

*-*-*

 

SHIT.

Arthur didn't need Lance's scribbled message on the pad of paper between them to know that everything they'd planned was going to hell.

“There are _no_ little laws!” said Merlin, waving his arms around for emphasis and knocking his pen, which had been on the lectern, to the floor with a jarring clatter. “If one disagrees with the law as it is, there are so many ways to change it, that breaking it is a ridiculous option. Lobbying, raising awareness... those are ways to change a law, not breaking it!”

 _Right,_ Arthur thought, _five minutes to think up an entire new speech. Bugger._

Five minutes later, he still hadn't thought of anything new.

“We would like to invite a member of parliament to continue the case for the opposition.”

Arthur walked up to the lectern as slowly as he dared. He shuffled his papers.

“Whenever you're ready,” said the chair.

Arthur started rebuttal on auto-pilot, taking down the proposition's points mainly on auto-pilot. They weren't very good points, to be fair. The previous speaker had gone on and on about the UN's Declaration on Human Rights, which was basically irrelevant to the discussion.

He was doing his usual sweep of the room, when his eyes alighted on Merlin. Merlin whose hair was standing on end, messier than Arthur'd ever seen it. He wondered whether it was natural, whether Merlin just woke up like that in the mornings _(not going there, not going there)_ or whether it was an [Amy Winehouse-esque](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amy_Winehouse) labour of love...

“[Rehab](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rehab_\(Amy_Winehouse_song\)),” he blurted, mouth engaging without any input from brain.

Then he blinked. _Oh._

He paused, and smiled at the audience, trying to channel his father and make it as sinister as possible. “Rehab,” he repeated.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is a debate about rehabilitation of prisoners. The proposition has continually told you that giving prisoners the vote would be good for their rehabilitation back in to society. We on side proposition contest this assertion. The reason that prison is used for criminal rehabilitation is that most psychologists agree that it's the pressures of society which drive people to crime in the first place, so the only way to be effectively rehabilitated is to leave society entirely.

Giving prisoners the vote is therefore the absolute opposite of what we should be doing.”

Arthur had no idea if what he was saying was a load of rubbish or not, but by the expressions of the proposition's faces they didn't have any statistics to disagree with him, so he thought he might be able to wing this one.

As usual, he was right. It was absolutely worth the five minutes of panic for the expression on Merlin's face when the results were announced.

And he deliberately put every topic other than debating out of his brain when Merlin looked over his left shoulder at him, eyes smouldering with the challenge, and said very softly “I'll get you next time, Pendragon.”

 

*-*-*

 

And he did. 

In the next debate, Arthur could hardly get a word in edgeways, because Merlin stood up every fifteen seconds to say “On that Point” and wave his hands wildly in front of him to attract Arthur's attention. Most of what Arthur had been _planning_ to say was lost in a wave of one “No, thank you” after another. Just to spite Merlin, Arthur had taken the solitary point of information offered by the terrified looking student from Mercia Uni who was on second Prop instead. The poor boy seemed absolutely scared out of his mind by Arthur's raised eyebrow and drawled “Yes?” that he stammered out some rubbish about fairness and gave up half way through the question.

Unsurprisingly, considering this level of skill was symptomatic of the other two teams in the room, Arthur and Lance came second, but Merlin and Gwen just clinched the win.

Despite the fact that they'd won, they were pulled up in the feedback afterwards for 'barracking' – asking points of information repeatedly for no other reason than to harry the speaker. Merlin batted his eyelashes at the judge and commented that since he'd been watching the clock and waiting fifteen seconds between requests, it couldn't technically count as barrracking at all. A rule book was produced, and it turned out he was absolutely right.

When Merlin smirked across the table at them after their win was announced, Lance shook his head with a rueful grin. Arthur would have been more incensed, but he was still desperately trying to recover from the batting of eyelashes which had just occurred.

 

*-*-*

 

By the time the quartet of teams who would be moving on to the final were announced, it was pretty clear that the four of them had been the front runners throughout. Arthur and Lance had just edged ahead by winning the final round, meaning they'd won three bouts to Merlin and Gwen's two.

The final was held in a pub. Arthur bought himself a pint for fortitude beforehand, raising the glass to Merlin with a “May the best debater win!”.

Then, they were off.

The motion was “This house believes that major social policy decisions should be decided by referendum.”

As the luck of the draw would have it, Arthur and Lance and Merlin and Gwen had drawn second Proposition and Opposition respectively. For some unfathomable reason, Merlin and Gwen had decided to swap their habitual positions, so Merlin was summating. By the expression on his current-arch-debating-nemesis-and-sort-of-crush's face, Arthur was entirely sure that Merlin had done it just to mess with him.

Despite the fact that as the last speaker for the proposition, Arthur was meant to be listening to everyone else's points and preparing his speech based on them, he spent far more time during the final in an epic stare-battle with Merlin. Their eyes had locked about ten seconds into the insipid first speech, and somehow neither of them looked away, even while they were making notes for their respective summations. Neither of them even gave a single point of information, not wanting to risk standing and breaking the eye contact.

Then it was Arthur's turn.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, honoured judges, and misguided Side Opposition. This is a debate about democracy, about fairness, about what it means to be a part of your society and have a say in how it's run! This is a debate about why to be fair, social legislation must _always_ be given a mandate through referendum.”

Arthur wasn't sure later what he'd actually said. His notes seemed to be more a mass of scribbles than anything else, but he was pretty sure that he'd made some good points, and by the expression on the judges' faces it hadn't gone too badly.

Then Merlin stood up.

It was the worst summation in history, if you believed in traditional summations. It didn't frame the debate in a series of points. What it did do was use the phrase “referenda don't work” forty-two times in the space of five minutes. Arthur knew this because after the first few times, he started keeping a tally for his own amusement.

The final few lines were the killer.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Merlin, with a huge, cheeky grin. “I'm aware this hasn't been a traditional summation. But frankly, it didn't need to be. Because the proposition have given absolutely no proof that referenda work, and since referenda _don't_ work, this motion is fundamentally flawed from the outset. So I'll just summarise by saying: you have no choice but to oppose this motion, because” here, he actually turned from the lectern and saluted Arthur with a grin before turning back to the audience, “ _referenda don't work._ ”

 

*-*-*

 

As they were shooed out of the room to allow the judges to deliberate, Morgana grabbed Arthur's arm.

“So, I take it that the delectable Merlin is the one you were eye-fucking all through that final then?”

Arthur rolled his eyes and shook her off. _Honestly, big sisters!_ “I was not eye-fucking anyone, thank you very much.”

Lance had come out of the room behind him. “You totally were, Arthur.”

Arthur glared at him. “Seriously? _Et tu, Brute?_ She really doesn't need the encouragement.”

“Encouragement in what?”

Arthur span on his heel to find Merlin behind them, Gwen in tow.

Morgana stepped forward with an outstretched hand and smile so sweet it had to be evil. “Hi, Merlin. I'm Arthur's big sister Morgana, it's lovely to meet you at last.”

“At last?” Merlin, shaking her hand wildly, looked slightly terrified. Arthur thought this was a perfectly valid reaction to Morgana.

Deciding to step in and rescue Merlin before he lost his sparring partner, he dislodged Morgana's hand from Merlin's and slung an arm around his friend's shoulders. “Come on, I'll buy you a drink now to help you feel better about the ones you're going to owe me forever after we win. Go, harpy. I banish thee.”

 

*-*-*

 

By the time the results were announced, both Merlin and Arthur were decidedly tipsy.

“So, I'm just going to say this fast,” said the girl announcing, “because I know that you all want to get back to your drinks as soon as possible.”

Arthur and Merlin, sitting together at the bar of the pub, clinked glasses companionably in agreement.

“We've decided to give the win to second Opp. That's Merlin and Gwen, Team “Magicyay!” from the University of Albion in Camelot.”

Merlin raised his glass in a cheer and saluted Gwen, even as the roomful of tipsy students applauded loudly. Even Arthur had to smile, because anything which put a grin like that on Merlin's face couldn't be all bad. Even if he would be shelling out for Merlin's ridiculous frilly cocktails for the forseeable future.

“There's one more award – best speaker of the competition, awarded to the person with the highest individual speaker points, goes to Arthur Pendragon!”

Arthur choked into his drink as Merlin clapped him rather hard on the back. _Oh_.

“Call it a draw?” he heard whispered into his ear over the applause. The feeling of Merlin's breath on his ear did funny things to Arthur's insides. He pulled away slightly for self-preservation reasons and didn't even have to work hard to allow the smile to form on his face.

“Oh go on then, but only this time.”

 

*-*-*

 

There was another pub after the one where the final had been held. Then, another. By the time they got to the club, it was the wee hours of the morning and Arthur wasn't sure which way was up any more, and was leaning against the bar for support. He rationalised that it was probably best at this to stay drunk the whole night through, because facing Morgause's driving on the way home sober was not something to be desired.

He'd lost sight of Merlin a few drinks ago, and was now drunkenly making a point about personal liberty to Lance and Gwen, who appeared to be holding hands. Hmm. He wasn't sure that they were listening properly, actually.

He turned away to look for someone more receptive to his wisdom. Morgause and Morgana seemed to be giggling in a corner together. He was absolutely certain they were talking about him, so he stuck his nose in the air, looking for someone nicer. Freya was at a table with some girls from the University of Nemeth. Merlin -

Oh. Arthur felt suddenly very, very sober. Merlin and Cedric were snogging passionately against a pillar. Merlin had both hands wrapped around Cedric's neck, and his eyes were shut, lashes long against pale cheekbones.

 _Well,_ thought Arthur morosely. _That answers the question whether he likes boys or not._ Apparently Merlin liked boys. He liked boys who debated. He even liked University of Camelot debaters. He just didn't like Arthur.

He turned back to the bar with a sigh. Lance and Gwen had buggered off somewhere. He waved his credit card at the girl behind the bar. “Give me a whole bottle of whiskey, please,” he said. “I think I'm going to need it.”

 

_*-*-*_

 

The only good thing to be said about the minibus ride back was that Arthur slept through most of it. He slouched on the back seat in his Camelot Uni hoodie and his oldest pair of jeans, desperately trying to ignore the clicking of the buttons on Lance's blackberry as he texted someone _(probably Gwen)_ for the whole journey. Arthur's own phone had somehow ended up in Mercia Bay – he couldn't quite remember how, and couldn't really find the energy to care until he was less hungover.

Cedric seemed irritatingly chirpy, and sat at the front of the bus chatting to Freya about how their debates had gone. They'd gotten three thirds and a second, which Arthur didn't really think was worth talking about anyway.

The very worst thing was that every time Arthur _was_ awake, he saw Morgana giving him pitying looks.

He pulled his hoodie further down over his head and tried to go back to sleep.

 

*-*-*

 

When Arthur got a new phone, he didn't give Merlin the number. He also put him on a restricted Facebook friends list, so he couldn't see any of Arthur's posts, and Arthur wasn't confronted with his cheekbones every time Merlin decided to post an inspirational quotation or pithy cartoon (which was about three times a day). These used to make Arthur smile, but. Well. There wasn't much point smiling when the person who made you smile really didn't want to be doing so.

It was about three weeks after the Albion novice, and Arthur was sitting in the kitchen of his flat at about four o'clock in the afternoon with a glass of whiskey.

“Hey,” Gwaine said, flopping down at the table next to Arthur. “It's not that I object to drinking. And I definitely don't object to your choice of drink. But 4 o'clock's a bit early to be starting if it's not a special event, y'know?”

Arthur snorted and raised the glass, toasting an imaginary crowd. “It is. It's my wedding day! November the fucking twenty seventh.”

Gwaine was looking at him quizzically.

“I'm not actually drunk, this is my first glass. Yes, I was meant to be getting married today. She was called Sophia. I really loved her. We were going to take a gap year together and get married on a beach in Brazil and get couples accommodation at uni. Everyone told me I was being an idiot, that we were too young... Morgana wouldn't speak to me for two months when I told her the plan.”

Arthur shook his head, draining the dregs of the whiskey. “Guess I was an idiot. It turned out she was cheating on me with four other guys, and only in it for the money.”

Gwaine looked as though he didn't quite know what to say to that. “Fuck me,” he finally decided upon.

Arthur laughed. “No, thanks.” Then he got up to pour another glass of whiskey.

At the counter, he thought of something else and swung around, gesticulating with the tumbler. “You know what else? The only guy, hell, the only _person_ who's really been my type since Sophia, the only person I'm interested in doesn't fucking like me anyway, so tell me Gwaine, what the fuck is the point? Is there any reason I shouldn't be getting pissed at four o'clock in the sodding afternoon?”

Gwaine grinned. It was the manic grin of a man with a plan and absolutely terrifying. “Yep. You need to slow down, mate. Because the best way to get over one guy is to get under another. We're going _out_ tonight.”

 

*-*-*

 

They'd come to the local gay bar. Gwaine was standing in a corner looking strangely comfortable whilst being chatted up by a huge bald guy with the biggest biceps Arthur had ever seen. Meanwhile, Arthur himself had taken a seat at the bar and was proceeding to attempt to drown his sorrows in cheap beer because the frilly cocktails on the menu reminded him too much of Merlin in a way that unnerved him.

A couple of guys had come up to buy him drinks, but the first had been too blond, and the second had had eyes too brown. A hand tapped him on the shoulder and he turned on the bar stool, about to tell whoever it was to go away when....

Oh. Because _of course_ this was Arthur's life, Merlin was at the other end of the bar. Arthur wondered why he hadn't noticed him before – probably something to do with the long line of people buying drinks between them. Arthur's attention was absolutely not on the dark-eyed man who had first caused him to turn – he was mesmerised by Merlin, and seeing this, the other guy shrugged and wandered off, melding into the crowd.

Merlin was leaning back against the faux-wooden covering of the bar, sipping a drink and smiling at the tall blonde leaning over him. He reached to ruffle Merlin's hair. Merlin flicked his head back slightly to avoid the gesture, and the slight turn of his head meant that he met Arthur's eyes down the bar. Suddenly, the crowd of people between them seemed to vanish.

Arthur saw Merlin's eyes widen in surprise, and his red, red mouth opened, forming the word “Arthur!” He looked beyond shocked, almost frightened, and Arthur thought that that was just the last bloody straw.

“Oh, fuck this,” he said aloud. He downed the remaining beer in his glass, slammed it down on the bar, and, noticing that Merlin seemed to be making his way down the bar towards him, turned and shouldered his way through the crowd in the opposite direction, towards the door.

He pushed roughly past Gwaine and Biceps, but Gwaine reached out to grab his wrist at the last moment. “Where're you going? Wasn't the plan to get you laid, you ok mate?”

Arthur rolled his eyes to heaven. “I find myself suddenly not in the mood.” He glanced back to where Merlin was still trying to force his way through the crowd. He was only a few metres away now. Gwaine followed his gaze, eyes widening. “Is that -”

Arthur pursed his lips. “Yeah, exactly. I'm going home.”

He span on his heel, completely ignoring Merlin who was now reaching out a hand to him, and pushing past, nearly trampled about six people in his desperation to get out the door.

But as soon as he was out in the cold, late night winter air, he felt all the rush of adrenalin leave him. He felt suddenly very, very tired.

But Arthur didn't want to go home yet, home to the small room in the hall full of students. Sure, he had friends and he was pretty damn good at his course and he liked debating, but was it so much to ask for to have someone to come home to after nights out, someone to watch crappy television with on Saturday nights, someone to sit in the garden with in the summer and keep him warm on cold nights?

He found himself walking through Camelot city centre, ignoring the drunk students everywhere and the lights coming from the twenty-four hour MacDonalds on the corner. Eventually, he found himself by the river which ran through the centre of the city, the Excalibur.

Picking up some pebbles from the scrub at the edge of the river, he sat down on a conveniently placed bench and started throwing them into the river.

_Splash._

As the first pebble hit the still surface of the water, the sound that it made shattered the silent night and echoed round Arthur's brain. He rather liked that – it meant there was less room for thinking.

_Splash._

It wasn't that Arthur didn't know he was being overly dramatic and self-pitying, after all. So, the boy he liked didn't like him back. So what? It happened to everyone , didn't it? He should probably just get over his ridiculousness and go home.

_Splash._

They'd never even really had a _thing_ , it wasn't like with Sophia where she'd actively betrayed him. He had no claim on Merlin. None at all.

_Splash._

It was just that in Merlin, he'd thought he'd seen for the first time since Sophia someone that he really could spend the rest of his life with. He scoffed to himself. Arthur was nineteen years old, far too young to be thinking about forever.

_Splash._

Then again, he knew himself. He was really an all-or-nothing kind of person. He either slept with people for one night, or planned for forever. Anything in between just seemed pointless, and a waste of time.

_Splash._

_Splash._

_Splash._

Since he was now getting too melancholy even for himself, Arthur started throwing the remainder of the pebbles into the river fast enough that there was not enough gap between them for him to think at all any more.

When he finally felt both sober and awake enough to walk home, he checked on his phone and noticed that it was nearly two o'clock in the morning. He had three missed called from Gwaine. Ignoring them, he got to his feet and started the twenty-five minute trek back to Kilgharrah Hall.

 

*-*-*

 

He opened the main door to flat 17 with a heavy heart and a resigned sigh. Arthur realised that he probably shouldn't just have started ignoring Merlin like that. He'd send him a facebook message in the morning apologising, blaming drunkenness, and asking to be friends again, he decided. After all, they'd definitely be seeing each other again at debating competitions, even if the coffee meetings would probably have to stop.

At least, that was what he was thinking until he walked down a corridor and found a thin figure with a mop of dark hair curled outside his bedroom door. The figure looked up at him from its prone position blocking Arthur's entrance to his room.

“Hey,” said Merlin.

“Shit,” said Arthur.

Merlin sat up, stretching out cramped limbs. Arthur tried not to watch and drool.

“Why are you blocking my doorway?” he asked. He felt rather stupid, like there was some big piece of the puzzle he was missing here.“Look,” said Merlin, still leaning against Arthur's door. “Gwaine let me in to the flat when he came back with Percy. I just - I think we need to talk.”

“I don't really want to talk right now. Please move so I can go to bed.”

“But Gwaine said -”

Arthur felt himself flush in embarrassment and anger – he should have known confiding _anything_ in Gwaine was patently a bad idea. “Look, whatever Gwaine said, you didn't have to come here and let me down easy or whatever. It's fairly obvious that you're with Cedric or whoever, and don't like me, so can we just pretend this never happened and go back to being friends please? I promise I'll never bother you with it again.”

Merlin's eyes had gone huge and round. “And you call me the idiot!”

“...what?”

“I only kissed Cedric because I couldn't have you, you idiot! We'd just had a day of debate, with you looking all golden and righteous and beautiful, and I'd spent all day wanting to kiss you but I thought you were straight! It's not like you gave me any indication otherwise, you great prat! So since I couldn't have you, I found a more attainable substitute.”

Arthur felt his entire worldview shifting. “Oh.”

Merlin just looked at him as though he were a little mad.. “Yes, 'Oh' ”

They stared at each other for a bit.

Arthur was the one to break the silence. “So...”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Honestly, do I have to do everything around here?”

He grabbed the back of Arthur's neck and pulled him into a spine-tingling kiss. Arthur promptly decided that kissing Merlin was the _best thing ever_ and the only thing that he wanted to do for the rest of his life. Then he thought of some more things which he'd like to do.

After a few minutes, they both pulled back slightly for air. “I've been wanting to do that ever since you walked into the coffee shop three months ago,” muttered Arthur.

“Me too.”

They went back to snogging for a bit. This time when they pulled back, they locked eyes like they had in that debate only a few weeks ago. It felt like a lifetime to Arthur.

“So,” said Merlin. “I'm leaning against this door of yours. I beg to propose that you open it so we can continue this inside and not traumatise your flatmates.”

“Yeah,” said Arthur, blindly reaching for his keys. “I heartily support the motion.”

 

*-*-*

 

 

  
 

 

 **A brief epilogue:**  

Arthur and Merlin continued to argue, both in competitions and just for fun. But now they had make-up sex too, which was absolutely fantastic.

Once, Lance and Gwen decided to go on holiday together instead of going to the University of Nemeth debating competition. Merlin and Arthur partnered up and won by a ridiculous margin. Morgana and Morgause were not happy with second place. They were slightly mollified by the fact that the boys vowed never to team up again because it wasn't half as much fun as arguing against one another.

In summation, they all lived happily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes on the debating style described in this story for your reference:
> 
> British Parliamentary Style debating is that used most often on the university circuit in the UK. It involves four teams of two people.
> 
> Two teams 'propose' the motion, speaking in support of it, and two against are 'opposing' the motion. For convenience, I refer to these as “First/Second Prop/Opp” in the order in which they speak.
> 
> They sit on the opposite sides of a table in this order:
> 
> Left hand side (from the speaker's perspective, facing the judges who sit at the other end):  
> First Speaker First Prop  
> Second Speaker First Prop  
> First Speaker Second Prop  
> Second Speaker Second Prop
> 
> On the right, the opposition sit facing their counterparts across the table.  
> To make a speech, the person walks to the end of the table diametrically opposite the judges and speaks from there.
> 
> Speeches are (usually) five minutes long, with the first and last minutes 'protected' so that the other side cannot interrupt. The timings are usually denoted by a bell or a bang on the table. During the middle three minutes, speakers from the opposite side of the argument can make “Points of Information” - short statements of disagreement. To make a point of information, the person stands up and says “On that Point”. The speaker can then either accept the point, or decline, usually by saying “No, thank you” or waving them away. Speakers accept points of information for three main reasons:
> 
> 1) You are expected to take at least one point of information in a speech, but not usually more than two. This shows that you are engaging in the debate, not just talking for yourself.
> 
> 2) Responding to points of information can often fill up time if you're running out of things to say
> 
> 3) There is nothing more fun than taking a point and absolutely demolishing it; plus, this makes the other side look really bad.
> 
> The speeches start with the first speaker for First Prop, then the first for First Opp, then the second for First Prop then the second for First Opp, etc.
> 
> The aim is not only to make points for your side of the argument, but also to demolish the other side's arguments. Also, you're competing with all three other teams, including the one on your side of the debate, so you need to make better points than them in support of your side.
> 
> The final speaker on each side of the argument is not allowed to make any new points, but has to spend their five minutes summing up the argument, and saying why their side has won. This is technically known as “summating”. A very good summater will not only be able to say why their side of the argument has won, but also why the points their teammate made were better than those brought up on the first half of the table. This is very hard to do coherently, however.
> 
> Which team wins is decided by the panel of judges. The panel is usually formed of ex-university students or older students who've been debating for a while, and is often led by the “Chair”, which is also the person who announces which speaker will come next. The judges award points to each speaker, helpfully called “Speaker points”, which unlike what the name suggests are mostly based on the quality of points made in the argument rather than speaking skills. The team with the highest number of speaker points between them wins.
> 
> The title of this story comes from the fact that in many competitions, after (usually) four or five rounds, the four teams with the highest scores so far move on to a final. This is called "breaking to the final".


End file.
